Memories of Sand
by ElisiansBane
Summary: Wolfram has spent his entire life in poverty, living hand to mouth, using whatever means to survive. He thinks this is his lot in life but a visit from a raven haired man in glasses changes everything and he realizes it was all a lie.
1. Chapter 1

Memories of Sand

Hello! EB here with a new experimental AU story. Why is it experimental? Because it has very little to do with the Kyou Kara Maou world and mythology – only the very basics. This is a plot that has been bouncing around in my head for a while.

I wanted to post the first couple chapters and see how you all like it and depending on your response, I'll decide if I should continue or not. So it is very important that you leave a review. The continuation of this story is dependent on how many people are actually interested in seeing how it ends.

Synopsis: Wolfram has spent his entire life in poverty, living hand to mouth, using whatever means to survive. He thinks this is his lot in life but a visit from a raven haired man in glasses changes everything and he realizes it was all a lie.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

The fact that he was tossed into a puddle of mud only added to Wolfram's ire.

"Get out and stay out!" The elderly, but very strong, innkeeper bellowed at the tattered young demon who kept propositioning his customers.

"This is an honorable establishment!" The man hissed as Wolfram slowly pushed himself up to glare back at the innkeeper. "I don't want little chits like you ruining my reputation!"

"It's a damned inn!" Wolfram shot back. "You'd get more business if you let me hang around and lure people!"

"I don't want no diseased, stinking whores on my doorstep!" The Innkeeper shot over his shoulder as he stomped back into the building. "Much less of all you!"

The Innkeeper finished his statement with a violent slam of the door, leaving Wolfram out in the cold and filth with the other vermin who lurked in Shin Makoku's alleyways.

The young demon sighed and vainly fixed his worn and dirty clothes to maintain some dignity – what little dignity could be maintained for a street rat like himself.

"Won't be going there anymore," he mumbled to himself as he joined the throngs of people meandering down the market street. He had just lost his best "fishing spot" as the others called it. It had the best access to more affluent clients, which meant more money for food and maybe some shelter for the night. Now he would have to search elsewhere for his income.

Wolfram made sure to pull the headband over the right side of his face – his "bad side" as he walked into the bright afternoon sun and made his way down the main street, looking for pockets to pick. He tried to avoid stealing for moral and legal reasons, but when he couldn't find any clients, it was his only means of support.

His hands ghosted expertly over the unsuspecting crowds that crammed the capital's market streets. Vendors calling out their wares to rapt customers were a sharp sound over the hustle and bustle of the citizens as they went about their daily business.

No one paid the young man any attention. His features were far softer and fairer than the typical thief. His eyes were hard, but still held a strange innocence about them that was disarming to anyone who looked upon them. It was perfect for getting up close to his targets and robbing them of their small trinkets and coins and no one ever thought to tell the local soldiers about any mysterious beautiful blonde men skulking about.

With years of practice and wisdom learned from errors, Wolfram weaved in and out of the throng. Barely an afterthought to the busy minded peasants. He pulled his thinning cloak tighter about his shoulders to hide his small prizes until he ducked away from the flow of people into an alleyway to examine his modest haul.

He smiled triumphantly when he opened his hand to reveal the brass pocket watch. The artisanship was impressive – though not garish like the pocket watches of the aristocracy – but well made and definitely worth a good bit of money. He could pawn this off for a good price at the black market.

A great commotion sounded behind Wolfram.

"Augh! Thief! Thief! I've been robbed!"

Wolfram didn't bother to look back at the old man he had just stolen the watch from. The old coot shouldn't have been walking in a very crowded street with the chain visibly draped from his pocket in a shallow attempt to mimic the upper class.

Wolfram ignored the man's outraged shouts and the concerned murmurs of the people nearby and made his way down the alley to cash in on his haul.

The narrow alleyways that made up the black market of the capital were teaming with the filth of society. Pimps dragged their whores behind them on worn ropes, thieves disguised as honest sellers hawked their wares to passersby, the poorest of the poor meekly darted in and out of the crowds search for the cheapest supplies for their families and Wolfram melted seamlessly into the fray heading towards his favorite pawn shop down at the very end of the street – Mark's.

Mark's pawn ship was little more than a short dead-end alley that had been fastened to look like a stout building wedged between two brothels. A crude faded sign named the place and welcomed all customers and clients to the facility. Tattered red curtains framed the windows in a perverse emulation of sophistication was all so pretentious in this place and yet so like Mark, the braggadocio owner.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite client!" Mark bellowed from his stool behind the counter as Wolfram sauntered in, fully confident of the new piece he had to sell to the picky pawner.

"Mark," Wolfram said smoothly, letting his voice drop into a sultry purr that always got under Mark's skin in the very best way.

"I swear, you get me going every time," Mark growled, giving Wolfram a once over. Wolfram responded by swaying his hips just a little more, accentuating his slim figure for Mark's enjoyment. However, Wolfram noticed that his gaze veered away from the "bad side" of his face. Besides, Mark didn't really care about a face as long as the body that went with it was desirable.

"Whaddya got for me today, Wolfie?" Mark said as Wolfram reached the counter.

Wolfram didn't bother to hide the sneer at the obnoxious nickname the pawner gave him. He absolutely abhorred being called "Wolfie" and yet Mark seemed to do it just to grate on him.

Reaching into his pocket, Wolfram produced the brass watch and chain, he grew hopeful when Mark's eyes appraised the piece in interest.

"Got this from an old man in the square," Wolfram explained. Mark didn't care how his clients got their stuff, he just cared for the value. "It's fine brass, the craftsmanship is clearly for the aristocracy, and it works too."

"Let's take a look-see," Mark mumbled, watching the clock drop into his hand.

Wolfram watched in silence and Mark examined the watch more closely, looking for any scratches or imperfections in the case and any malfunctions in the clock face. He had been through this process so many times that he knew Mark would fight him tooth and nail for a low price, but Wolfram was smart and he could figure the value of the watch – it would always be worth more than what Mark wanted to pay, no matter what small blemish the man found on it.

"Twenty quid," Mark announced after a brief moment. He started his bid low.

Wolfram started his bid high. "It's worth at least fifty – you know that. The watch you got over there is listed for sixty and it isn't nearly as fine as this."

"That's an antique," Mark countered. "Still worth more than this. It's got a big scratch on the brass. Take a look."

Wolfram humored Mark by looking where a calloused finger pointed on the backside of the watch. There was a miniscule scratch. But nothing that warranted the depreciated value that Mark suggested.

"Forty-five…." Wolfram amended.

"Thirty."

"Forty..." Wolfram leaned forward to tuck a piece of Mark's dark hair with a knowing smile. "And I might come see you later…"

The lascivious smile split Mark's face in half. In addition to buying stolen goods from Wolfram he was also one of the demon's "regulars."

"With a discount?" he smiled hopefully, running a rough thumb over Wolfram's bottom lip.

"Maybe." Wolfram purred. "If you do me good this time."

"I always do!"

'Yeah, right…" Wolfram thought dryly, briefly contemplating if he should charge his customers more for making him fake it every time.

Their seduction was cut off by a blast from several horns outside the shop. The sound was so loud that it carried over from the main street and into the black market alley.

"Goddamn it!" Mark groaned. "I'm getting really sick of their bullocks! Do we really need to know every single damned time a fat cat meanders through the main streets and fucks up traffic for an hour?"

"They think we do," Wolfram said with a smirk, though he too was annoyed by the constant blowing from the horn that announced the arrival of Shin Makoku's allies.

"Can't wait for the wedding," Mark said. "Then they'll all go home and we'll have some darned peace and quiet!"

Wolfram grunted noncommittally and shoved the forty quid from Mark into his pocket. That would be enough to support him till the end of the month if he was careful.

"I'll be seein' you tonight then?" Mark grinned.

Wolfram indulged him with a flirtatious wink. "You know where to find me."

Mark let out a boisterous laugh. "Ah yes! Little Lord Wolfram of Truffle and Dobson!" He guffawed, referring the street corner Wolfram called home.

"You bet," and with that, Wolfram was quickly out of the door before Mark could see the disgusted shudder ripple through his body.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wolfram shoved his way through the even more congested streets, making his way to the nearest pub for some dinner and a beer. The crowds pressed in from all sides as they made space for the large caravan of carriages, carts and soldiers.

Wolfram sighed in irritation. This had been going on for weeks now. Every few days a nobleman or woman from some Podunk country would arrive the city for the upcoming wedding of the young demon king. Ever since the announcement had been made to the joyous crowds of the marriage of King Yuuri and that king from some country Wolfram didn't know or care about, Shin Makoku had turned into a conglomerate of the rich and powerful all there to rub shoulders with the king and impress the new Consort.

"Make way! Make way!" shouted the caller leading the caravan. "Make way for the Demon King Yuuri Shibuya and the future Prince Consort Saralegui of Shou Cimarron!"

As if it were even possible, the crowd pressed together even more. Wolfram was suffocated under the pressure from all sides as peasants crushed in and fought for a chance for the rare sighting of their king.

Yes, Wolfram couldn't wait until this was all over. Rumor had it that the ceremony would take place within a few weeks and he was counting the days till then. He hated the big crowds and increased traffic that clogged the streets. It was too noisy and unpleasant with all the increased pushing, shoving and shouting that occurred whenever there was a big event. He hated it when royals visited the capital. The only saving grace was that it meant there were more out-of-towners he could steal from.

The caravan finally passed by and the crowd was allowed to spread out and move. Wolfram pushed his away impatiently through the throngs of people and headed toward his usual haunt.

The air in the pub was heavy with the smell of roasting meat and soot from the kitchen. The dozen or so tables were sparsely occupied with a few ruffians. Wolfram was glad he had made it before the dinner rush. He would get the best of the food and drink then before it was all gobbled up by the day laborers.

He sat at the chipped bar and waved a barwench over. Within minutes he had a big mug of beer and a plate of roasted meat and bread. With a flourish of someone with more wealth than he had, he dropped a few coins into the waiting hands of the wench who just shrugged and went about her business.

Not having had a good meal in days, Wolfram scarfed down the food and washed it down with the beer. He hacked at the burning sensation, but went back to gulping it down, so very happy to finally have decent food in him.

He was so engrossed in eating that he didn't notice that the mostly empty bar had a new visitor. This visitor focused in on the young demon and made a beeline for the stool at Wolfram's right.

Wolfram only registered the new presence long enough to feel irritation as to why someone would sit next to him when they had the entire bar to themselves. He didn't like being crowded and he set down his empty mug and meant to leave the pub.

"Well, someone's got a healthy appetite…"

Wolfram had been propositioned and molested at this bar many times. Mostly from grungy fiefs looking for a quick lay and Wolfram was an easy target, he supposed. He had learned to either ignore them or seduce them long enough to steal their precious coins, but today, he wasn't in the mood for cheesy pick-ups and gross men.

However, it was the stranger's voice that caught his attention. It was too aristocratic and proper to be the lazy pidgin spoken by the common folk. Wolfram himself had been made fun of for his "posh talk" not understanding why he didn't have the slang or accents of his peers, but the educated speech of someone much higher class then he. Honestly, he had to make an effort to speak more "normal" so as to not put off his clients.

Wolfram said nothing to the man, didn't even look at him, hoping that this would convey his message clearly.

But the man wasn't getting the hint. "You come here often?"

Wolfram rolled his eyes. He had heard that a thousand times.

"No," he said curtly. "I just came for the food."

"I can see that," said the man.

Wolfram heard the man shift on his seat to turn to face him fully. He still didn't look at the man.

"I've been looking for you for a very long time."

This time, Wolfram did deign to acknowledge the stranger. Mildly disturbed, he turned to the man.

He wasn't remarkably handsome. He had dark eyes framed by spectacles, hair blond as Wolfram's framed his face. He had a strange smile upon his face as he watched Wolfram stare at him. It was a smile that hinted at knowing more than it gave away.

"For me?" Wolfram asked, voice laced with suspicion. His free hand gently fingered the short dagger hidden under his robe, ready for any threat. "Have we met before?"

The odd smile grew. "You could say that. We were quite well acquainted."

Wolfram opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by yet another obnoxious blast from the horns.

The man simply chuckled and turned to watch the crowd part of the long procession outside the pub door.

Over the top of the crowd, Wolfram could see the colorful banners and streamers tied to flag poles and the roofs of the carriages that passed them by.

"More and more come every day," The man beside him muttered.

Wolfram nodded, fixated on the procession of colors. He couldn't make out what the caller was saying over the noise of the crowd. However, it was the same old make way speech that every caller repeated obnoxiously during the procession.

"Do you ever feel like you should be among them?" The man asked Wolfram suddenly, an unperceivable look in his eyes.

"No," Wolfram answered bluntly. "Never."

"Really?" said the man. "Don't you feel like it should be you in that gilded carriage, waving as the common folk bow down to you?"

"No, I don't," Wolfram said irritably. What was this man's issue? "Such things are for little girls."

"Not necessarily," replied the man smoothly, not at all bothered by Wolfram's curt replies. "You are the type that is meant for greater things….much greater than life on the streets."

"Is this your weird way of propositioning me, sir?" Wolfram asked in a huff, growing tired of the man's cryptic words.

"No, not at all!" The man said quickly, waving his hands dismissively. "I am merely pointing out the fact that you don't carry yourself like a common street rat. You possess the dignity of someone born into royalty."

This time, Wolfram had to laugh. "Are you serious? What were you drinking back there? I'm no different from the other filthy whores and thieves that sneak around these parts. You're mistaken!"

"I don't think so," Wolfram was suddenly frozen by the piercing stare of the mysterious man. He noticed for the first time that the man possessed the blackest eyes he had ever seen. Such eyes were unheard of.

The man held Wolfram prisoner with his stare as he continued. "You are descended from greatness. It should be you in that procession."

"What are you-"

But the man disappeared as suddenly as he had come. Wolfram spun around and sputtered, looking into the crowd for the location of the mysterious stranger. He found himself alone in the cheering crowd, left to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

King Yuuri Shibuya of the Great Demon Kingdom leaned out of his carriage to wave at the adoring crowd, much to the chagrin of the other occupant.

"Yuuri, try to maintain some decorum!" the other man scolded, though it was half-hearted.

"I'm only greeting the masses, my dear," Yuuri said cheerfully. "They took the time to come see me after all."

"But you shouldn't wave like a lunatic!" the blonde man said in a huff. "Honestly, after four years as king, one would think you would have learned proper public behavior!"

"Don't be so uptight, Sara," Yuuri pouted. "This is supposed to be a time of joy! We're getting married!"

Sara couldn't help but smile a little. "Yes, we are."

Their romance had been the talk of the century. King Yuuri of the Demon Kingdom traveled to the small country of Shou Cimarron and fell madly in love with its young beautiful King Saralegui. The two began a whirlwind romance that was the topic of every minstrel's repertoire in addition to King Yuuri's benevolence and Saralegui's immeasurable beauty. Truly, they were the couple of the hour across the great continent.

"But that doesn't mean you can just wave like a hoodlum and nearly fall out the window!" Sara added when Yuuri leaned even further out of the window.

"Sara, calm down. I'm not going to – ah!"

Sara leaped from his perch to catch his clumsy fiancé by the jacket as Yuuri lost his balance and the upper half of his body slid out of the window. The crowd responded with enthusiastic yells at finally getting a better look at their sovereign. Yuuri tried to maintain his composure and waved good-naturedly as his frazzled lover pulled him back into the carriage.

"See?" Sara hissed. "I said be careful!"

"That was…new!" Yuuri chirped, not at all bothered by the incident. "They liked it."

Sara shook his head. "Oh, Yuuri!"

Yuuri only grinned and continued to watch the crowds of people move past as they made their way to the palace. He loved these tours of the capital. He enjoyed seeing the faces of his subjects and getting the chance to interact with them. When he did this, he felt closer to his kingdom and it gave his role as king new purpose. He loved that he could share in the joy of marrying his true love with his people and that they supported him.

Something caught Yuuri's eye in the crowd. He paused to look a little closer to see that it wasn't an object, but someone's golden blond hair. A very beautiful someone who didn't look like he belonged among the rough common folk. This young man carried himself with a dignity that Yuuri only saw among the nobility. But this young man looked like nothing more than a street urchin. He was certainly dressed like one; his clothes were little more than rags.

It was his eyes and hair that demanded attention – or really, his one eye as the other was covered by a dirty bandana wrapped tightly around his head. But it was the greenest eye framed by the blondest hair Yuuri had ever seen. It was breath taking.

"Yuuri!"

Yuuri was jolted from his thoughts by the sharp voice of his fiancé. He suddenly felt guilty for staring at another man while his lover was present. He had no idea what had come over him.

"Yes, Sara?"

Sara gestured towards the front of the carriage. "We're almost here. Get yourself ready. I believe one of our guests arrived while we were out."

"Oh, yay…" Yuuri groaned. Every day for the past month they had been forced to host a reception for every single wedding guest that came through their gates. It was starting to get really bothersome to the easily bored monarch.

"I hope Gunter remembered to set up the reception room, because I didn't."

"Like usual," said Sara with an eye roll. "I'm sure he has everything all prepared."

"I bet he does," Yuuri said and settled back to enjoy the remainder of their ride.

"Hey, Sara?" Yuuri said after a couple minutes of silence. The noise of the crowd had died down enough for them to speak without nearly shouting.

"What is it, Yuuri?" Sara asked.

Yuuri leaned over and gave Sara a sweet kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

Sara smiled back and turned to make Yuuri give him a real kiss. "I love you, my king."

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

The streets were quiet this evening. Wolfram wondered if it had to do with the procession earlier that day. He tried to shake the image of the king nearly falling out of his carriage from his mind as he concentrated on finding himself a client for the night.

Wolfram couldn't help but chuckle as the memory pushed its way into his vision anyhow. He had heard that King Yuuri was a bit clumsy, but he never thought he would see it with his own eyes. The sight of the king being pulled back into the carriage by his frazzled fiancé after nearly falling to the ground was priceless and Wolfram would cherish the funny image for the rest of his meager life.

Wolfram was absolutely charmed by the king's antics. He was nothing like the uptight nobility that looked down on the common folk. It was surprising and refreshing to see someone of such high regard greeting his subjects so warmly, even if it was a little unrefined. Wolfram liked that and he wondered if he would get to see the king again.

Wolfram's thoughts drifted over the sight of the king sticking his head out and waving at the crowd. King Yuuri was certainly very handsome with his unusual black hair and eyes – a subject that many people gossiped about daily. No one knew exactly where the king had come from, only that he had been chosen by Divine rule. But the king's unusual features and coloring made him very exotic and Wolfram had seen many a youth and young girl spend ridiculous amounts of money to dye their hair and tan their skin to look more like the attractive monarch.

Wolfram sighed and leaned against the street pole. He wouldn't mind catering to someone like the king. It would be a nice change from the unwashed vagabonds and crusty old men that frequented Wolfram's small abode. He would even go so far as to guess that the king looked like he would be a gentleman in bed. Wolfram would like one of those once in a while.

Wolfram's thoughts were interrupted when he heard the obnoxious sound of the other prostitutes flirting with a potential client. He only picked up bits and pieces of their conversation. It was the same drivel of empty compliments, double entendres, and price negotiating that made up the majority of these conversations. Wolfram rarely took part in them because his client pool was very specific – it consisted of the men too poor to afford the unscarred prostitutes and those who got a kick out of rutting a down-on-his-luck, disfigured and bitter young man. They usually came to him with little enticement.

The conversation suddenly stopped and Wolfram looked over curiously at the two women. They were looking at a nicely dressed man with shocked expressions…before looking over at him with disgust.

Wolfram stood up straight and faced them head on. He wouldn't be intimidated by their disdain. He may have been the cheapest lay on Truffle and Dobson, but he still had his dignity.

"You want him?" one of the girls said, a pretty auburn haired girl named Sue that Wolfram tended to get into altercations with on a regular basis. Wolfram didn't miss the barely contained repulsion in her voice and the rude way she jabbed a finger in his direction.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm looking for him specifically," replied the man smoothly and turned to Wolfram with a wry smile.

Wolfram was shocked. This was the strange man from earlier! How had he found this place! He didn't strike Wolfram as someone who picked up whores on street corners at night – quite the opposite. He looked like a well to do man that could easily afford a mistress of high caliber, not streetwalkers.

"Are you sure you be wanting him, sir?" said the other girl, Holly, a blond trollop new to the business and Sue's little protégé. Though not as bad as Sue, Wolfram found her to be way too hyper and clumsy when it came to seduction. "He services the riffraff that Sue an' I throw aside! He'll take anyone. He probably got a ton of diseases!"

"I am well aware of the risks of partaking in prostitution," said the man. "And I am sure you lovely ladies are of the highest quality of professionals in your field. However, I must decline and settle for Lord Wolfram over there."

"You're settlin' for a case o'da worms, sir," said Sue with a disgusted sneer.

Wolfram was getting angry. He probably took more care in his health and hygiene than any of these women! He always set aside enough money for a quick trip to the pubic bathhouses once a week so he would always be clean and disease-free for his clients. He would bet that none of these girls bathed as frequently! They only dipped old cloths in the public fountains and scrubbed off with those. Hardly a proper bath!

"I'm sure Wolfram is well-versed in safe sex practices," the man said with a smile and winked at Wolfram. The blonde demon just snorted and continued to watch the exchange.

"Pfff, he's well-versed in things that no self-respectin' whore would ever agree to!" snorted Holly. "But it's your funeral, sir! I jus' wish you'd not be so adamant."

Wolfram was about to leave his post and give that bitch a piece of his mind, but the man replied – rather loudly.

"Then he's absolutely perfect! I'll take him!"

The man spun on his heel and left the flabbergasted girls behind without a second glance. He walked up to Wolfram with great bravado and boldly grabbed Wolfram's hand and kissed it as if she were a fine lady and not a hooker.

"Good evening, Lord Wolfram!" the man grinned. "I am in need of your company tonight. Would you indulge a weary traveler and invite me to your humble abode?"

Wolfram stammered for a minute, not really sure of how to respond. He looked back up at the girls who were giving him the stink eye from behind the man.

"Yeah….I can indulge you for the night," Wolfram said hesitantly. Money was money, right? And the man wasn't ugly – rather easy on the eyes now that Wolfram had a better look at him and judging by his clothes, he was better off than Wolfram's usual clients. It wouldn't be a bad deal.

"Lead the way!" the man said with a grand sweeping gesture. Wolfram resisted the urge to roll his eyes and lead the man to the little hole in the wall he called his home.

It was a single room hovel in the side of an abandoned building that was home to many of the city's prostitutes. Truffle and Dobson were known at the sex streets in Shin Makoku's dark underbelly. It was far way from "upstanding citizens" and its dozens of rotting houses and taverns were perfect for the city's sexual deviants to practice their pleasures in peace.

Wolfram kicked open the door with little ceremony as he mentally prepared himself for a night of sexual release. He found no pleasure in this line of work. It was a last ditch effort to support himself and lessen the extreme poverty that was his daily life. He needed to take a hit of opiates before he could perform for his clients to numb the feelings of worthlessness and self-loathing that usually followed. He could usually get his clients to take some of the drug as well. It made them more cooperative and lessened the chances of them turning violent.

"Soooo…" He drawled, kneeling down to retrieve the opium and a pipe from a small wooden box next to the cot he called a bed. "Anything specific in mind you be wanting?"

The man watched him silently with a look of both pity and repugnance for the drug paraphernalia Wolfram was arranging on the bed. Wolfram ignored the disapproving look and inwardly groaned. He really didn't want this guy to be one of those self-righteous posh people who wanted to "save him." He didn't really need one of those and they always dropped their hero façade when he worked them with his mouth and hands.

"Want some? It's complimentary," He said, handing the man an extra pipe.

"No, thank you," said the man flatly. "I've never understood the appeal of opium."

Wolfram snorted. "Whatever, then. It helps loosen you up…especially if it's your first time doing this sort of thing."

"Do you always smoke opium?" The man asked. Wolfram detected concern in his voice and it was starting to tick him off.

"Everyone smokes opium," Wolfram said with a shrug. What was this man's deal? "I've never met anyone who didn't."

"I asked if you always smoked it," the man interjected with a frown. "It's not good for you."

"Yeah, I do. So what?" Wolfram said, letting his annoyance show. "What are you after? Are you here to rut or did you come all this way so you can talk down to me? Because I have other things to do."

"I apologize," the man said gently. "I was just curious…."

"Sure you were," Wolfram sniffed and lit his pipe. The two stood in awkward silence for a while. Wolfram watched the man through the bluish wisps of smoke as he waited for the high to overcome him. The man looked everywhere except at Wolfram, clearly uncomfortable with witnessing someone taking drugs right in front of him with no shame.

Tired of the silence and the man's judgmental stare, Wolfram spoke up.

"Okay, so is there anything in particular you want me to do or are you just gonna stand there all night? 'Cause I can't make money if you're just gonna waste my time."

"Is it true?" The man asked, waving a stray billow of smoke out of his face.

"Is what true?" Wolfram said irritably.

"That you'll do things no self-respecting whore would do?" The man clarified with an unreadable smirk.

"It depends on what it is," Wolfram replied nonchalantly. "And how much money you got."

"Fair enough," said the man. "I have an unusual proposal for you. "

Wolfram's interest was piqued. "What?"

The man suddenly became very serious and pinned Wolfram in place with his intense black gaze. "First, you must answer something for me."

Wolfram took a step back. "Like what?"

The man sighed in frustration. "I…don't know how to say this without sounding insane. But, what if I told you that this-" He made a sweeping gesture to the spartan room and Wolfram's bad life choices. " – was not meant for you? What if I told you that you were – and are – something more?"

"Then you'd be confirming my earlier assumption that you are a loony," Wolfram said with a sharp bark of a laugh. "I've always been here. Ain't nothing gonna change."

"Yes…I understand that it is inconceivable," the man said quickly. He stepped closer to Wolfram and the young man was struck by the sharpness of his eyes behind the big spectacles. "What is your name?"

Wolfram scoffed, bemused and annoyed at the man's antics. "It's Wolfram. You know that…though I don't know how."

"No surname?"

"Sur-what?"

"You don't have a last name?" The man explained. "No Family?"

"No, I don't. Don't got none of those things," Wolfram said. "What do you want from me?"

"Do you remember anything beyond the past four years?" The man asked suddenly. He was starting to scare Wolfram. He was becoming more and more agitated and the prostitute fingered the hidden knife in his pocket.

"What the hell are you getting at?!" Wolfram blurted. He slipped his hand into his pocket to grasp at the knife. "It ain't your business!"

The man reached into his pocket and tossed Wolfram a small bag. He let it fall to the ground, eyeing it suspiciously before bending over – not taking his eyes off the man – to pick it up. He opened it and gasped when he saw the shiny gold coins.

"If you tell me everything about your life. If you help me, " the man said. "I will give you another bag."

Wolfram just stared at the man in confusion. He found himself wishing it had just been another normal night with some grungy old laborer with four teeth and not this!

"What the hell?" he scoffed. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because I've been looking for you for the past four years and I can't do anything without you!" the man said, watching, and waiting, for Wolfram's next move like he expected him to do or say something profound.

"Are you dead serious?" Wolfram shouted. "You think I'm someone you're looking for?"

"I know you are the one I'm looking for," the man said emphatically. "But I must know how badly you've been affected by the spell."

"The hell, man?" Wolfram was ready to punch this guy. "What spell? No wonder you didn't wan the opium! You're already on something! Who the hell are you?!"

The man stopped, suddenly realizing he'd gone about this the wrong way. With a long suffering groan, he just outright said it.

"I am Murata Ken. I'm the Great Sage of the Demon Kingdom and I've been in hiding for four years, trying to find a way to break the spell that has fallen over the entire kingdom. I can't use my magic or I'll be found out and killed. I've been on the run and I need you to help me break the spell and save the kingdom."

The man, Murata Ken, pointed a finger at Wolfram's stunned face.

"And you! You are Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld, third son of the 26th Demon Queen Cecilie von Spitzweg, heir to the Bielefeld family, and the _real_ fiancé of the 27th Demon King Yuuri Shibuya. You are the key to saving the kingdom from the tyranny of King Saralegui of Shou Cimarron, who plans to use the demon king's power to destroy Dai Cimarron and plunge the entire continent into war for his own gain!"

"Get the hell outta my flat!" Wolfram suddenly shouted. Something inside him snapped. It was a psychological knee jerk reaction that told him he should get this man out of his flat as quickly as possible.

"W-what?" Murata stuttered and then he quickly recovered. "I know this is crazy. But you have to believe me!"

"I believe that you are a complete lunatic who needs to get the hell out my place!" Wolfram spat, brandishing the opium pipe like a sword.

"Are you sure about that?" Murata persisted. "Think about it! Haven't you felt like you were in the wrong place? Like this wasn't what your life was meant to be? You've been under a spell for four years that erased your memory. But I can help you get it back!"

Wolfram stared wide-eyed at the man. His words struck a chord in the street rat that hinted to a terrible truth that he never wanted to face.

He had no memories.

Murata took the stunned silence as confirmation. "You know that, don't you? I speak the truth. You are the heir to one of the most powerful aristocratic families in the country. You are the rightful Prince Consort to the Demon King!"

"Lies!"

"What is a lie, Lord Wolfram, is you walking the streets and selling your body like it's a cheap piece of meat and smoking opiates! You are better than this!" Murata shouted back. He was clearly not giving up without a fight.

"No, it isn't!" Wolfram cried out, suddenly overcome with despair. "This is my lot in life! This is my home. I know nothing else. I've always been a thief and a whore for pay! You made a mistake!"

"No, I haven't!" Murata shouted back, determined to get through to the demon. "You are the one who is mistaken! The life that you have known was conjured by a powerful and manipulative sorcerer who wanted everything you had and stopped at nothing until he stole it from you!"

"You mean King Saralegui?" Wolfram scoffed in disbelief. "The king of Shou Cimarron and fiancé to King Yuuri of the Demon Kingdom!? Why would he want what I have? I have nothing!"

"You once had everything!" Murata Ken said. "And Saralegui hated you for it. He hated you more than anyone for what you had."

"What did I have?" Wolfram asked. His tone was meant to be mocking, but both could hear the slight tinge of fear and hope underneath the sarcasm.

"You had power and wealth," Murata began slowly. "But more importantly, you had the love of King Yuuri, the greatest monarch to ever rule Shin Makoku. Saralegui wanted Yuuri for himself, but you were in the way, so he got rid of you."

Wolfram just couldn't wrap his mind around it. The man in front of him was clearly insane and Wolfram didn't know why he was letting this Murata bloke ramble on and waste his time when he should kick him out. But Murata had touched on a nerve inside the blonde demon and Wolfram couldn't let him go just yet.

"If he hated so much, why didn't he kill me?" Wolfram asked barely above a whisper.

Murata frowned and his black eyes flashed in anger.

"Because watching you go from wealth and success to a wretch, who sells himself to survive only to die early from disease and starvation, was much more satisfying than killing you. That's how much Saralegui hates you."

Wolfram was quiet. It was too much. There was no possible way in hell that this crazy man's claims could be true. Wolfram was and always had been a street rat and he would die was one. Just like all the others that lived on Dobson. Only his fleas would mourn his death.

And yet, it would explain so much. It would explain why he couldn't remember his life beyond waking up in a ditch beside the road. This could be the answer he was looking for and had given up on so long ago.

Wolfram shook his head roughly. No, no! It was impossible! He shouldn't be toying with the fantastical ideas of a raving lunatic standing in his flat!

"This is ridiculous! I shouldn't even be humoring you!" Wolfram jabbed a finger at the door. "You need to leave right now! I don't wanna see you around these parts again!"

Murata Ken looked frustrated. "Lord Wolfra-"

"Stop calling me that!" Wolfram spat. "I ain't no one's lord! You don't come here and fill my head with these stupid stories! How dumb do you think I am!? Now get!"

Murata deflated. He gave a heavy sigh and looked at Wolfram with pity and sadness. Giving up, he slowly turned towards the door, but as he opened it to got out into the night, He turned to speak one last time.

"I will leave you for now, Lord Wolfram. However, I beg you to try and think back as far as you can. Can you remember your childhood? Your family? Where you grew up? Can you remember a time when you weren't the way you are? If you can, come find me. I will be at the Swallow Inn on Main Street. I will wait for as long as it takes."

"Don't hold your breath!" Wolfram snapped. "Now leave before I cut you!"

Murata sighed again and let himself out. Wolfram glared at the closed door for a long time before collapsing onto his cot in exhaustion.

Murata took out another little sack of gold coins and tossed it at Wolfram, who deftly caught it this time. "You won't lose any income. I'll pay you for however long it takes. Just think about it. Consider that and the other one a down payment."

Without waiting for a response, Murata left and shut the door behind himself, leaving Wolfram alone with his thoughts and more money than he had ever made in a week.

Wolfram fixed himself another hit of opium. He would need some help getting rest this night and tried to shake the weird urge to follow the man.

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Hello, everyone!

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of my new story!

This fic was inspired by the one-shot KKM fan fiction Shallow Insight by Popkat and an old episode of Aladdin; The Animated Series. If you haven't read Shallow Insight already, please check it out, it's very good!

I had to make Wolfram slightly OOC for this story because he's been living among the common people and thinks he's one of them, so I had to change his speech patterns a little to be more like someone who lives in a rough neighborhood. I didn't change his personality, I just wanted him to be more street-like in his conduct.

Once again, this story is very experimental and outside my usual story-types. The continuation of this fic really depends on whether or not you, my readers, think it's worth completing. So it is very important that you leave a brief review


	2. Chapter 2

Memories of Sand

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Memories of Sand Chapter Two – Something Afoot

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The stone floor of the cell bit harshly into his back and angered his already inflamed wounds. Wolfram groaned in pain as he shifted weakly to alleviate the pain in his back, but it only made things worse. It always made things worse.

Even though it was dark, he could envision the long red whiplashes that decorated his back, arms, and legs. He could feel his broken ribs when he tried to move or breathe. Every single breath caused a jolt of pain to rip through his weak body rendering any kind of physical activity impossible. Wolfram could only lie on his back where his captors had dumped him in the center of his cell.

His concept of time had long ago faded. Day and night didn't exist in this small hell on earth. The only light to be had was from the torches perched outside his cell. The only routine to be had was the uneven intervals of the guards that brought him his meager meals once a day. There was a constant dripping of water from some unknown source, but that too was unreliable as the patterns changed just as Wolfram grew accustomed to one pattern only to have it disrupted by a new rhythm.

His faint breathing echoed through the dank room. He had adopted a habit of breathing through his mouth whenever possible to avoid smelling the putrid scent of blood and waste that permeated his environment. Occasionally, his captor would douse him and his room with stale water when the mess became too much, but it was only when _he _had grown tired of the filth. Wolfram could wallow in it for as long as he lived.

His eyes twitched back and forth. There was nothing to see in the dark cell, at least, not now. His mind scanned various random images and sounds from his life before he was captured, but they only provided nonsensical faces and emotions that he didn't know – or couldn't remember.

As far as Wolfram knew, there was no time before he came to this hell. No matter how hard he racked his mind for answers, there was nothing to reveal to him what he was like before this place. It was like trying to see through a cement wall. No matter how hard or long he clawed at his memory, he found nothing.

The loud creaking of the door jolted Wolfram from his stupor. He didn't bother to move to look in the direction of the person who entered. He already knew who it was and he felt nothing but blind hatred for the pompous sadist that ruled him.

"Good morning," said a silky smooth voice that reminded Wolfram of honey spread over hemlock. "Feeling any better today?"

Wolfram sneered up at the ceiling. He knew damn well how he was doing. He had held the whip that tore Wolfram's skin from his back just a few hours earlier!

The young man delivered a swift kick to Wolfram's side. The blonde demon let loose a raspy howl of pain and curled in on himself while biting back the nausea.

"Answer when I speak to you!" The young man hissed.

"Go to hell!" Wolfram growled, finally deigning to look up at his tormentor.

The man was only a silhouette framed by the red light of the torch outside the cell. Wolfram could make out three other men that stood behind him and his blood ran cold when he realized that this was going to be one of _those_ torture sessions.

"Do you recognize your friends from yesterday?" the man asked with a sickeningly sweet smile. "They came because they missed you."

"No!" Wolfram gasped, weakly backing away from the approaching men. "No!"

Two pairs of arms snatched him up from the floor. He cursed and struggled against their grasp, but he was too weak to fight them. They harshly dragged him from the room as the blonde man followed behind them with a satisfied grin.

"Don't be so coy! You should be flattered that they would want you in the state you are!"

Wolfram let out a hollow scream as he was dragged down the long hallway to the room where all his nightmares were kept.

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Wolfram jolted awake from the horrid nightmare. He was safe and sound in his flat, the morning sunlight peered through the cracks in the walls and the rickety old door. The tattered sheets pooled around his waist as he sat up and ran shaking hands through his hair to rub away the images from his dream.

Everything had seemed too real! The smells, textures, and pain had felt so genuine that Wolfram reached back a hand to feel his back for the red welts he was sure were there, but he only felt the scars that had been there as long as he could remember.

He hadn't had that dream in nearly a year. It had haunted him every night four years ago when he stumbled half-dead into the Capital. The cold nights spent sleeping on the streets were peppered with the same all-too-real nightmare that Wolfram was sure his own imagination had conjured to compensate for the fact that he had no idea how he came to be so disfigured.

But this time, the dream had seemed even more real than before and Wolfram blamed the strange visitor from last night. Murata Ken's words still echoed in Wolfram's weary mind.

"_Can you remember your childhood? Your family? Where you grew up? Can you remember a time when you weren't the way you are?"_

No, no he couldn't. Wolfram hadn't been able to remember anything past that rainy morning when he was found by a lone trader who then dumped him at some random inn in the city. Wolfram had spent several weeks in the care of the elderly couple that owned the inn before he was strong enough to care for himself. He still visited that couple from time to time and they were the only kind people that Wolfram knew. But other than that, his mind was a frustratingly blank abyss. That Murata fellow would have had an easier time asking him to count every star in the sky.

Wolfram reached back to feel the raised scars that marred his back. They had been with him since the beginning. Their presence spoke of a time spent in total suffering and were testament to the unadulterated hatred of some unknown enemy that strangely felt it appropriate to leave Wolfram alive.

The bandana rested next to him on the cot. Wolfram rarely left the flat without it bound securely around his head. He absently touched the two long scars that marred the right side of his face, giving his eye a lopsided look that ruined an otherwise lovely face. Wolfram despised the scars almost as much as he despised himself and used the bandana as a way to hide the scars on his face and his psyche.

Sighing, Wolfram went about his daily routine and made himself ready for an honest day's work of thieving, pawning, and seducing to make end's meet.

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Wolfram wandered around the city square in frustration. He couldn't concentrate enough to pickpocket, a skill that required absolute focus, thanks to the nightmare and the disturbing words of his strange visitor.

More than once, Wolfram meandered near the street where the Swallow Inn was located. It was in a slightly better part of town, but no less impoverished. This street was populated by poor folk who liked to pretend they weren't poor and as such, spent beyond their means until they struggled just like the lowest of them. Wolfram could pick them out blind if he wanted too; their cheap imitation perfumes and cakey makeup were dead giveaways.

And more than once, Wolfram paused the mouth of the street caught in a tug of war with himself as he contemplated searching for the man named Murata Ken. Then, Wolfram would shake his head and admonish himself before walking in the opposite direction only to circle back again after a couple of hours.

The day was wearing on and Wolfram was running out of time. He hadn't a single trinket to show for his trouble. The coat pockets and purses of Shin Makoku were safe for a time now that he was too preoccupied with dreaming of Murata Ken's words.

"Me….Lord Wolfram von Bielefeld of Shin Makoku? Bullocks!" he snorted inwardly, kicking a small pebble out of his path as he walked towards his home.

Images of himself dressed in the puffy, frilly suits of the elite flittered across Wolfram's mind. He chuckled at the thought of himself dressed in fine silks trimmed in luxurious lace dancing with a court lady to some pompous orchestra. What a sight he would make! His cohorts along Dobson would laugh their rears off if they could see the surly and uncouth Wolfram rubbing shoulders with the posh!

Wolfram laughed at his imagination as he found his way to Market Street. It was slow this time of day, the usual vendors were preparing to close for the day and return next week with new and improved wares to tantalize the townsfolk. Wolfram admired the figurines and toys that cluttered a row of tables, He picked up a wooden statuette here and there, scrutinizing the artisanship or lack thereof until he came across a booth that sold bearbee figurines.

Wolfram froze right in front of the simple display. The glass and porcelain figurines were of a higher quality than anyone around there could afford and yet there they were, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. He carefully picked the smallest one up and held it to the light.

He continued to examine the figurine. The head was out of proportion with the body. Bearbees had large heads with small pear-shaped bodies and bumblebee wings. This figurine's head was far too small and the wings were of a dragonfly's.

The smell of rotting wood and mildew assaulted his nose. A sudden feeling of annoyance and anxiety welled up inside him. The need to follow someone into a dark place only to fall through the floor and make the discovery of a lifetime. Giant caterpillars, cocoons as large as he was tall, large pink bearbees chiming "nogisu!" as they nuzzled his chest - black hair, black eyes, and an obnoxiously adorable grin.

"Hey!"

Wolfram startled at the harsh cry. "Uhhh…yeah?"

The old man behind the table tapped his fingers impatiently. "You gonna buy that? I gotta turn in for the night soon!"

"Ah... no, ain't got the money," Wolfram mumbled as he carefully set the figurine down. "It's pretty, though."

The old man snorted and returned to packing his wares. Wolfram slowly walked away from the table, occasionally glancing back at the little figurine that seemed to watch him as he melted into the crowds. He scoffed. That figurine was all wrong.

Wolfram didn't know how long he spent wandering around the central part of the city. The shops around him gradually shut their windows and doors, and the taverns quickly filled up with day laborers looking for a place to unwind after a hard day's work. The demon toyed with the idea of maybe staking out a position on one of the corners outside the taverns. If he was discreet enough, he could get a client for the night and some extra cash.

After aimless wandering, Wolfram looked up to see where he was and nearly cursed out loud when he was once again standing at the intersection of the street where Murata's inn was. He could see down the wide cobble road to the big wooden swallow that marked the location of the titular inn and he cured his instincts for leading him there again. He didn't want to seek out the so-called sage, he didn't want to be fooled by some madman's ramblings. Everyone knew that there was no great sage! How stupid did this man think he was?

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to turn away from the inn. He couldn't describe what he was feeling. It was some combination of hope and curiosity, though he didn't know why. He had no idea what he hoped to accomplish should he take the leap and go see the strange man named Murata Ken.

Wolfram considered himself a reasonable and rational man, so with a grunt and a shrug he turned away from the inn for what felt like the hundredth time and made his way home, ignoring the ever growing pull that begged him to turn around.

The night would yield no peace for the young thief. Upon returning to his flat, Wolfram stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the covers. But instead of falling asleep, his mind conjured up images that he couldn't tell were from his own imagination or from memory. He kept seeing black hair and eyes and was confused as to why he felt so comforted and – dare he say it – loved when he imagined those eyes turned to him.

Wolfram found himself waking up several times during the night as he alternated between dreams of chasing a young man through a grand palace and nightmares of being trapped in a cell as a blonde man shoved hot iron spikes into his skin.

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The next few days Wolfram staggered in a daze through his daily activities – if one could call them that. Really, he just wallowed in his flat, only leaving to buy rock-hard two-day-old bread from the baker to prevent starvation. Other than that, he didn't pickpocket and he didn't whore himself out. He was pretty sure that Holly and the other hookers were pleased to not have Wolfram lowering their standards and taking all the men. He made a mental note to himself that he would need to get back to his corner again soon before one of those bitches tried to take it. Wolfram didn't want to have to cut a bitch, but he would if his territory was threatened.

Wolfram scuffled his way to Main Street, hands in his pockets while kicking a random stone. Nearly a week of restless sleep had taken its toll. Wolfram was desperate for some peaceful rest and though he was loath to admit it, he would never rest again until he saw Murata Ken.

His dreams had grown in intensity and realism since that fateful meeting. However, they were no more informative. All he saw in his dreams were flashes of faces and places with a variety of emotions that he could never quite place; love, hate, fear, anger, desire, longing – which left him disturbed and disoriented upon waking.

Wolfram came to the conclusion that he would not find peace until he confronted Murata. He only hoped that the man had meant what he said and was still at the Swallow Inn waiting for him.

It took twenty minutes of pep talk and gathering nerves before Wolfram pushed the swing doors of the Swallow Inn and entered into the unknown.

The place was a step up from the inns that Wolfram was familiar with on Dobson. It was much bigger on the inside and the tables were of polished wood and the patrons were much better dressed. These were merchants and traders, not day laborers. The barmaids wore matching aprons and skirts and set down the plates and mugs with a practiced grace not seen in any lowbrow tavern. Wolfram immediately felt out of place.

Trying to come off as more confident than he felt, he sauntered into the tavern and made his way to the bar. He sat on one of the stools and casually waited for the barkeep to approach him.

The barkeep was a greying man with a stern expression. He walked up to Wolfram with a raised eyebrow, clearly not accustomed to seeing such ragamuffins in his inn. But instead of ordering Wolfram to leave, he asked him what he wanted.

"Nothing for now," Wolfram said evenly. "But I'm looking for one of your tenants. A black haired man named Murata Ken."

The barkeep shook his head. "Ain't nobody 'ere widdat name, son."

Wolfram's heart sank. "But surely there is! He told me to come here a couple of days ago!"

"Sorry, son," said the barkeep. "Ain't no blokes named Murata or Ken 'round here. 'E might've left or told ya the wrong inn."

"How could he?" Wolfram muttered, irritated and disheartened. Murata had said he would wait for as long as it took. Had he left?

The barkeep shrugged. "You could try the Sparrow Inn. We get confused widdat one all the time."

"Yeah, thanks," Wolfram said with a small grimace. The Sparrow Inn was a high-end brothel.

Wolfram groaned quietly. So much for that. Muttering a goodbye, he slid away from the bar and made to walk out into the night, steeling himself for another bout of sleep punctuated by incoherent dreams.

Just as he was stepping out into the street, he heard the familiar voice of Murata.

"Hey! Wolfram, wait up!"

Wolfram turned to see Murata running down the street from the direction of the Sparrow whorehouse… Wolfram scoffed.

"You finally sought me out!" Murata grinned triumphantly.

Wolfram sniffed the air around the man. It stank of cheap perfume and incense. "I asked and the barkeep said he'd never heard of you."

"Um…yes, well," Murata said sheepishly. "I can't be too careful, you know. So I gave him an alias"

"A what now?"

"A fake name," Murata clarified. "He knows me as Tom Orrow."

"Tom Orrow?" It took a second for Wolfram to get it. "Really? That's dumb!"

"It was all I could think of!" Murata protested. "But enough of that. Let's go inside and discuss this matter, shall we?"

"You stink of those women," Wolfram said offhandedly when Murata took his arm to guide him back into the inn.

His observation got him an embarrassed cough of a laugh.

"Yes…well…" Murata said after collecting himself. "I've been on the run for a very long time and I get a little lonely."

"Ooh…" Wolfram drawled in comprehension. He had heard that explanation many times before.

Murata led Wolfram upstairs of the Inn, past the otherwise preoccupied barkeep. Murata led them to a room at the very end of the smoky hallway and with a turn of a big brass key, led them into the largest room of the inn.

Once Murata lit a rusty candelabrum, Wolfram took in his surroundings. The place was much nicer than his flat – though it didn't take much to be nicer than that hole – It had a big bed for two, a desk, a lidless trunk and a closet. Around the room were scattered various personal belongings and books that no doubt belonged to the room's sole mysterious occupant.

Murata gestured for Wolfram to take a seat on the chair by the desk while he seated himself on the bed.

"I can't say how relieved I am that you finally came!" Murata said happily. "I was beginning to think that you would never come and I would have to resort to other means." 

"Yeah, well…" Wolfram began hesitantly. "Ain't got nothing else to do, so I figured I'd hear ya out."

"Oh really?" Murata quirked an eyebrow and Wolfram decided he didn't like the know-it-all look on his face. "And what made you decide to seek me out when there are a dozen other things that could've taken your time?"

"Just curious is all." Wolfram huffed, not wanting to betray the desperation he felt thanks to his dreams.

A knowing smile graced Murata's features. "You sense it, don't you?"

"Sense what?" Wolfram put on a show of being a skeptic.

"That everything you've known thus far is a lie," Murata said with a grin. "Saralegui's hint on you is slipping…"

"What's a 'hint'?" Wolfram backed away a little when Murata fixed him with an intense stare that burrowed into his mind.

Murata leaned back and sighed dramatically as he slumped back into his seat. "Only King Saralegui's specialty. He is a master of illusion and seduction. That's how he was able to essentially take over the entire Demon Kingdom without an army."

"I thought King Yuuri was the most powerful demon king that ever lived," Wolfram pointed out. "He is thought to be more powerful than Shinou the Great himself! How was Saralegui able to take over the kingdom?"

Murata sighed exasperatedly. "Because despite being a god on earth and a messiah to the demon tribe, King Yuuri is incredibly gullible and soft-hearted. All you need is a pretty face and a sob story and he'll be putty in your hands!"

Wolfram crinkled his nose. He had always heard grandiose stories of King Yuuri's accomplishments in smiting his enemies…however there were also the stories of how kind-hearted and sympathetic the king was to his people to the point of giving the shirt from his back to a homeless man. King Yuuri was known to be incredibly kind and child-like in his conduct, which was a sharp contrast to the tales of his domination of his enemies.

"That's why the two of you clicked so well!" Murata continued, interrupting Wolfram's thoughts. "Yuuri was able to be his sweet-hearted self while you, Wolfram, got to be the hard-ass. It was basically Good Cop Bad Cop but in royal couple form."

"Good cop bad cop?" Wolfram repeated.

"Uh…never mind. It's a term from my home country," Murata waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, Saralegui was able to seduce Yuuri. He got close to the king and when it was too late for anybody to stop him, he placed a hint on King Yuuri. He has used the king's omnipotent power to brainwash an entire continent and rewrite history!"

Wolfram couldn't help but regard the man with a skeptical stare and began to question the logic in seeking him out in the end. Such a tale could only be found in legends and folk tales!

"I can tell you don't believe me," Murata stated flatly.

"Well, yeah!" Wolfram scoffed. "You're telling me a tall tale 'bout some Saralegui bloke who cast a spell on an entire kingdom and it's king! I've only heard such a thing in children's stories! You're pulling my chain!"

"I assure you, I'm not pulling your chain," Murata asserted.

"Yeah…so, if everyone's all brainwashed and stuff, how come you're not?" Wolfram pointed out.

"I wasn't in the kingdom at the time when it happened." Murata explained. "But when I returned, I knew everyone was under Saralegui's spell. Saralegui tried to entrap me with a hint, but I sensed it before it happened, so he decided to make everyone believe that I was a Dai Cimarron spy. He had King Yuuri send his soldiers after me and they chased me out of the country. It was divine intervention that saved me."

"Yeah?" Wolfram asked.

"Oh yeah…" Murata said with emphasis. "I had thought all was lost until I realized that one particular person was absent when I stupidly came to the castle."

"Me?" Wolfram guessed after Murata fixed him with an unreadable stare.

"Exactly," Murata nodded. "I wondered why you were gone. I found out that Saralegui had a special fate planned for you. You were the object of his deep hatred and jealousy. He didn't want to just place a hint on you or get rid of you. He wanted to make you suffer." 

"But why?" Wolfram was thoroughly at a loss. "If I'm so important, why not just kill me or put me under one of his hints? It would've been easier, I would guess!"

Murata gave a smile that was a strange mix of darkly amused and disdainful. "Because….King Saralegui is a vain and arrogant man subject to fits of jealousy and greed. When someone has something he wants, he has to have it. But he can't just have it, he has to destroy that person too."

"What could I have that he wanted?" Wolfram asked honestly confused at to what a powerful king could want from a street urchin like him.

"You had everything," Murata said emphatically. "You had beauty, wealth, power, and _magic_. But what made Saralegui hate you was that you had the love of the King and your people. That really pissed him off."

"I ain't got nothing now," Wolfram muttered sadly at the floor.

Murata hummed sympathetically. "You surely can't remember what happened to you four years ago?"

Wolfram ran a nervous hand through messy hair, his eyes never leaving the floor.

"I dunno," he said after a long pause. "I've…just had these crazy dreams…"

"What kinds of dreams?" Murata prodded.

Wolfram looked everywhere but at the man in front of him. "It's not anything I can really describe. It's just sounds and colors and images…All except for one…"

"Try to describe it," Murata pushed. His dark eyes glittered in the candlelight had took on a strange depth that Wolfram feared would pull him in if he wasn't careful.

"I'm in a cell," Wolfram explained. "I'm being tortured. A blonde guy comes in. I don't see his face, but I know who he is. I'm in a lot of pain, but I still mouth off when he talks to me. He orders some guy to drag me out to some place that I'm scared of, but don't know why. Then I wake up."

"Is that how you got the scar?" Murata pointed at the bandana wrapped around Wolfram's right eye.

Wolfram shrugged. "I guess. Ain't got any other way of explaining why it's there."

"Is that your only injury?" Murata inquired, leaning forward to examine the covered scar more closely.

"No, not at all," Wolfram said. "My back and arms are covered in whip lashes. My whole body's scarred."

"May I see?" Murata whispered.

Without a word, Wolfram shrugged nonchalantly and stood from his seat. His line of work required that he have no qualms about stripping in front of strangers. However, his manner held none of the flirtation and seduction that he usually employed. Instead, it was hesitant, ashamed, and fearful.

He let his tattered shirt fall to the ground and turned so that Murata could see the full extent of the damage. He stared blankly at the door to the room, trying to fix his face into an expression of easiness that he didn't feel.

Wolfram heard the low whistle and the sound of Murata slowly getting up from his seat. But he wasn't expecting a cold hand to gently trace one of the bigger scars that ran diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip. He didn't suppress the shudder that ran up his spine, which got him a mumbled apology from the other man.

"My god…" He heard Murata whisper in horror. "Someone did a number on you!"

Wolfram didn't need to be told twice. He had seen those scars himself many times in the dirty mirror at his flat. There wasn't a single inch of unmarred skin on his back. His upper arms bore the smallest scars, evident of catching the tail end of a vicious strike. He briefly remembered an old client saying that his scars looked like the results of a blind, epileptic spider trying to weave a web. It was the nicest description Wolfram had ever heard of his scars.

"And your eye?"

This time, Wolfram hesitated. He hated the way his face looked. He often thought that he had once been beautiful before whatever evil had disfigured him and stole his memories. All of the suffering. confusion, and hopelessness seemed to be present in the disgusting raised flesh that was his face. It had been a source of fascination and disgust from his clients and mockery from his fellow prostitutes. It made him look inhuman.

"….No…"

Instead of asking 'why not?', Murata sadly nodded. "I understand…."

"I can't let you see it," Wolfram said in a broken whisper. "I never let anyone see it. It's…horrid. I look like a total freak!"

"Can you see out of that eye?" Murata asked timidly.

"I can see out of it fine," Wolfram stated. "It just looks repulsive. My whole body is repulsive!"

"No, you are most definitely not, Wolfram," Murata said in all seriousness. "It is Saralegui who is repulsive…."

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

The place where their bodies were joined ached deliciously.

As they rocked together in unison on the king's bed, Saralegui reached up to gather his fiancé's dark hair into his fist and yank it in encouragement.

The dark man moving above him moaned in pleasure as he buried himself deeper into bliss. Sara couldn't help but grin in satisfaction that it was only he who could get such a reaction from the mighty Demon King.

Yuuri's long black hair fell in a curtain around them, creating a micro-world where only the two of them existed. His dark eyes were closed in concentration as he brought them both closer to completion. His perfect little mouth was pressed into a firm line as he lost himself in the pleasure that only his Sara could give him.

Saralegui in turn, smiled triumphantly as he did every time he seduced the young king. He briefly thought of the massive stack of documents left unattended in the king's office that lost in a bid for Yuuri's attention when Saralegui sauntered in unannounced. Saralegui never had to work hard for the king's attention. He didn't have to work hard for anything. All his pawns followed orders to the letter, leaving Saralegui plenty of time to indulge his primal urges with the handsome buck that rocked above him.

"Oh god, Sara!" Yuuri whispered brokenly on the throes of passion. "I'm…close!"

"Harder, Yuuri!" Saralegui ordered into Yuuri's bruised lips. "I know you can thrust harder!"

With a hard grunt, Yuuri followed his lover's orders and picked up their already breakneck pace to rush them both to their climax. Yuri suddenly broke away from the deep kiss Saralegui had initiated to moan his release, which pushed Saralegui over the edge and brought their romantic encounter to an end.

The raven King's arm's shook and then collapsed under him. He buried his face into Saralegui's neck, placing lazy kisses along the sweaty skin.

"Why is every time better than the last, Sara?" Yuuri purred.

"Magic," Saralegui whispered with a grin, which made the king laugh in that charming way.

They lay together in silence, just basking in the after glow of their lovemaking until the chime of the grandfather clock beside the fireplace reminded them that they still had duties to see to. With a whiny moan, Yuuri slowly rolled off Saralegui and moved to put his clothes back on.

"You' re going to get me in trouble, Sara," Yuuri said with a chuckle. "I can't even remember what I was supposed to be doing before you came in!"

Saralegui only grinned. "You were signing off on the final invitations for our grand wedding, in addition to reviewing a couple of treatises that Gwendal wanted you to look over before they are finalized." Saralegui said with ease.

Yuuri snapped his fingers as his other hand finished buttoning up his jacket. "That was it! What would I do without you?"

"Nothing much, really," Saralegui drawled, that statement holding more gravity than the sweet-natured king would ever know.

"You're probably right," Yuuri leaned over to give Saralegui a sweet peck on the lips before returning back to the drudgery of reading and signing papers.

Saralegui pouted. "I don't want you to go…"

Yuuri pouted back good-naturedly. "Neither do I. But this kingdom won't run itself and you have a trip to prepare for."

Saralegui cringed inwardly. He had received a notice from Berias, who had remained back in Shou Cimarron as a regent while Saralegui finalized his plans in Shin Makoku. The notice informed Saralegui that Dai Cimarron was "acting up" again, which meant that the much larger and more powerful country was making good on its threats against the small sister country. The Shou Cimarron nobility were panicking and demanding that Saralegui show himself in order to restore peace.

They were idiots. Dai Cimarron wouldn't do anything while Shou Cimarron remained on good terms with the Demon Kingdom – and that wasn't changing, not so long as Saralegui bore the solid gold ring around his finger, an Earth tradition Yuuri had so sweetly explained to him the night they were engaged.

It was much preferable to a slap.

"I don't want to go…" Saralegui couldn't help but moan. He was having too much fun enjoying the high life here in the Shin Makoku capital. While King Yuuri rarely spent money on himself, he had plenty to shower on his beautiful fiancé. It was so much better than the sparse, dinky palace that Saralegui had called home. Oh yes, Shin Makoku's economy was much stronger than Shou Cimarron's and it showed in how casually Yuuri spent money on his fiancé and daughter.

This was the life Saralegui deserved! A life of power and luxury, not that of a king ruling a weakened country torn by civil war…But that would change soon, in three months' time.

"I don't want you to go, either," Yuuri cooed, stroking Saralegui's long blonde hair. "You know I'd go with you if I didn't have so much to do here. I don't think Gwendal will let me slip away this time." 

Saralegui sighed. He could place a hint on Gwendal, but he needed to use his powers sparingly, so he decided against it. "I know…I'll still miss you, though."

"I will too," Yuuri smiled and he turned to leave his fiancé for a desk piled high with official documents.

When he turned, the gold necklace around Yuuri's neck caught the afternoon sunlight. It had replaced the ugly plain blue pendant that Yuuri had worn everywhere. In the center of the necklace, a small green vial hung from the chain, the swirling magic of the sand creating an inner glow that caught Saralegui's eye every time and filled him with satisfaction.

'Mine….completely and utterly mine…' he thought smugly.

Saralegui reminded himself to send a thank you to his mother in Seisasoku for giving him the idea. He never would've thought he could expand his powers through another person with stronger magic. It was so convenient and a lot easier than he had nervously thought – especially when working with someone as gullible as Yuuri.

Saralegui's thoughts were interrupted by Yuuri's voice.

"When you get back, we're going to have a parade…."

That surprised Saralegui. "What parade? We just had one the other day!"

Yuuri gave a sympathetic nod. "Gunter informed me that the procession from yesterday was just a procession – not the actual parade. He's organizing the floats, the dancers – and there's going to be fireworks too and a bunch of free stuff like candy, given to the masses."

Saralegui stopped himself from groaning. He hated mingling with the commoners. They were so primitive and unwashed – and demanding of their king's attention. Saralegui wholeheartedly believed – though he would never speak it aloud – that Yuuri spoiled his subjects. He sent time with them, talked to them, helped them - and even played with their children! – whenever he had the opportunity, much to the distress of his retainers, who saw it as a grave security breach and to his fiancé, who saw it as degrading.

"Don't make that face, Sara!" Yuuri scolded lightly. "The people really want to see us and this is one of the few times when they can let loose and have fun! It's a giant block party held in our honor!"

"Yes, yes I know," Saralegui sighed, accepting the inevitable. "I just would rather spend time with you and me alone and plan our wedding. These public events are so tiring!"

The little pout on his Sara's face was too adorable. "Oh, Sara," Yuuri smiled giving his fiancé a little peck on the lips. "I know and when all this is over, I'm taking you on a honeymoon to end all honeymoons!"

Yuuri finished getting dressed and bid his fiancé goodbye with a comment that Gwendal would have his hide if he didn't get back soon. Saralegui laughed at the comment and watched the clumsy king stumble out of their bedroom.

Saralegui smiled. Yes, in one month his plans would come to fruition. As soon as he returned to complete the final ritual of his hint, he would have total control over Shin Makoku and Shou Cimarron and eventually Dai Cimarron as well.

Saralegui's toes curled in sheer giddiness over how well things were going. He had power, he had wealth, he would soon finally unite the two Cimarrons under one banner for good with him as king and he would have access to the most powerful source of magic in the universe – King Yuuri. The icing on the cake was that he got to take the handsome monarch to his bed every night. It couldn't get any better.

There was just one thing…

Frowning, Saralegui made his way to the office of Yuuri's Chief military general, ignoring anyone he passed in the hall way. He really didn't care for the help around this palace. They were all the same to him.

Not even bothering to knock, Saralegui entered the office, barely noting that his fiancé wasn't present. Gwendal looked up from his paperwork, mildly surprised that his new master was there.

Only a person well-versed in the art of persuasion and hints could see the unnatural glassy look to Gwendal's eyes that every single person in this kingdom had.

"Any word?" Saralegui asked, voice dripping with the magic of the hint.

"We have been searching all throughout the country," Gwendal's replied in a mechanical voice. "We have found no trace of the Dai Cimarron spy known as Murata Ken."

"You're not looking hard enough!" Saralegui barked. "I want this man's head on a platter! He could ruin everything!"

Gwendal nodded. "We are working non-stop, your Majesty."

"And remember, I want him dead!" Saralegui hissed, not at all pleased that the one factor that could ruin his entire plan was still possibly alive somewhere.

"Yes, Master," Gwendal muttered.

"Get back to your papers!" Saralegui ordered. "I have no need of you today."

Without hesitation, Gwendal immediately went back to his duties. Saralegui groaned and stomped out of the room.

Damn that sage! He had evaded capture for the entirety of the past four years. If anyone could undo the spell it would be him! Sara had used Yuuri's magic to sense where the sage might be, but the man wasn't stupid, he purposefully didn't use his magic and had cloaked his spiritual signature effectively rendering him invisible to Saralegui's powers.

Saralegui couldn't rest until he knew Murata was dead. If that man was still alive then he would certainly try to break the spell.

Saralegui humphed. He would kill Murata the same way he killed Bielefeld.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

"We don't have much time…"

"Much time for what?" Wolfram said as he sat on the worn bed. He was hungrily wolfing down a plate of stew Murata had bought him after the eccentric man had commented that he looked like he hadn't had a decent meal in ages. Which was true.

Murata continued to stare out the tiny window in deep thought. "The spell has been in place for four years now. Spells have a time stamp on them. They start to fade after a while and their effectiveness dies. In all my years of being a sage, I have never known a spell to last more than four or five years after its original casting. It always has to be renewed. Some spells however, can be made permanent, but it requires a huge amount of raw magic. Saralegui will try something to make the spell permanent. I just don't know what it is."

Murata stared at Wolfram who suddenly started chuckling. "What?"

"It's just this," Wolfram waved his hand vaguely. "It ain't real. I shouldn't be here."

"And yet, you are," Murata said. "My words must've gotten to you."

"Pfft, don't kid yourself," Wolfram sniffed. "It was the promise of more money that made me show up. I ain't never made that much money in a single night. You must be loaded!"

"I saved up," Murata replied dryly.

"I'd ask you where you got that money, but I've learned that asking too much gets you in trouble 'round here," Wolfram said, finishing the last of his meal.

"I can imagine," Murata muttered, not at all liking the condition he had found the demon prince in after years of searching.

Pushing the plate aside, Wolfram leaned back onto his elbows and regarded Murata with half-open eyes, feeling much more relaxed around the strange man than before. "So, Mr. Murata, say this whole magic spell-hint thing-bob really is real. How do you plan on taking down King Saralegui, if he's so powerful?"

Murata sighed and after an embarrassed pause finally replied. "Well, that's my main problem…I don't really know."

Wolfram's eye widened. "You ain't got a plan? You made Saralegui sound like a badass and you, Mr. Sage, didn't even come up with a plan? "

Murata ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know. But I've had nothing to work with. I can only undo the spell if I know the exact spell he used!"

"I thought you said he used a 'hint'" Wolfram said.

"I don't know what kind of hint!"

It was becoming apparent to Wolfram that this sage was either incredibly incompetent or Saralegui was just that devious.

"Magic is very specific," Murata explained. "My last hope is to find a way into the Temple archives and see if there's anything my past self wrote about it. I'm ninety percent sure he did. If I can find that journal, I will know how to break the spell."

"Your past self?" This man was getting crazier and crazier the longer Wolfram knew him. Maybe the money wasn't worth it.

Murata waved it off. "Long story. But that's where you come in. You're going to help me break into the archives and get the journal."

"How?" Wolfram asked with a raised eyebrow.

Before he answered, Murata went to a pack sitting on the floor and produced a worn piece of paper.

Taking the sheet of paper into his hands, Wolfram immediately recognized it as a flier for a job announcement at the palace.

"With the preparations for the wedding, the castle' staff are incredibly overwhelmed. So they'll be looking for new temporary hires in the coming weeks. You and I are going to attempt to get hired as helping hands for the ceremony and when we're inside we'll find a way to break into the temple archives." Murata explained.

"What makes you think they'll hire me?" Wolfram asked, pointing at his bandana covered eye. "I don't look like a prime candidate for being a palace servant."

Murata smiled. "The King has enacted a new law that says that a person cannot be denied a job at the palace due to their appearance or history, but on their skills and character alone. Though it doesn't account for human flaws, but it might give us a chance."

"Something tells me you haven't really thought this out," Wolfram said after a pause.

Murata sighed. "I haven't had much to work with the past four years. But if we can get into the archives, I can break the spell."

There must have been something in the way Wolfram looked away and stared out the window that made Murata add. "You still don't believe me."

"It's too much to swallow," Wolfram said, shaking his head. "I'm still not sure if I should do this….."

"Look at it this way…." Murata said coming to kneel in front of Wolfram. "You're getting paid to apply for a job where you will also be paid and using your….skills to help find a book. And if everything goes well, I can also promise you the answers to your past."

Wolfram stared hard at the other man for a long time. He wasn't sure he wanted the answers to his past. The evidence on his back and face told of someone who absolutely hated him, but didn't think it wise to kill him. The crimes he must have committed could have been nothing less than the worst of sins. Could live with the fact that he might be a worse criminal than he already was?

But Wolfram also knew that now Murata was in his life and promising him gold and answers, he would never be able to turn him down.

"Very well," Wolfram said finally. "I will help you….but if things get crazy I'm out."

Murata smiled. "Of course…"

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Murata could tell that Wolfram didn't believe him for one second. He knew that it was the promise of more gold that kept the demon from stomping out of there and leaving Murata entirely on his own.

Murata had spent the last four years on the run, trying in vain to find some way to single-handedly rescue the kingdom from Saralegui. He still couldn't believe how easily the blonde king had taken over the most powerful empires in the continent. He guessed that's what he got for being so careless.

He knew Saralegui to be a devious monarch, and he had thought he had kept up with him up until that point by infiltrating Dai Cimarron with Conrad and gathering whatever information they could on the mysterious king. While Murata had been investigating the White Crows that he had once led, Saralegui had taken over. The sage hadn't stopped kicking himself since for his oversight. When he had realized his mistake, it was too late. They had lost the kingdom and he had become an outlaw in his own homeland, hunted by those he had once called friends.

Saralegui had made puppets out of everyone – even Yuuri. Murata didn't know how, but Saralegui, without an army or any noise, had taken over Shin Makoku and ruled the country ever since.

Except, he had missed Murata….and Wolfram.

That was the one factor Murata had noticed was missing when he saw Yuuri standing beside the grinning human king when he had been captured. Conrad, Gunter, and Gwendal were all present – even Yozak had been placed under the curse, but there was no Wolfram and that stuck with Murata even as he planned his escape from the dungeons.

He thought Wolfram to be dead at first. Surely, the jealous prince would have fought to the bitter end if anyone had tried to take Yuuri from him. But his gut told him otherwise. So once he had escaped, he had begun searching for the other demon and staying hidden from Saralegui's spies, while finding a way to break the spell.

And now, after all this time, he had found him – nearly by accident. While perusing the red light districts of the capital, he had caught rumor of an infamous one-eyed prostitute named Wolfram. He knew it was a small chance, the name Wolfram was fairly common, but the description of blonde hair and green eyes sealed it for the now desperate sage and he had sought this prostitute out and it paid off.

But what Murata wasn't expecting was the condition in which he would find his friend's fiancé. Even before seeing the severe wounds that covered most of Wolfram's body, Murata could sense the utter destitution and self-loathing that emanated from the once lively demon. He had never seen such a dead look in the prince's eyes, like he was the walking dead. When he finally did see the extent of Wolfram's suffering, Murata knew why.

Murata could only guess how long Saralegui had kept Wolfram locked away in some dungeon to be tortured and violated over and over again. It was clear that what ahd been done to Wolfram was out of pure hatred. But that left the question of why, after all that, had he been allowed to live?

Murata inwardly shrugged. Maybe as he earned Wolfram's trust, the demon would reveal more to him. Until then, he would have to settle for buying the other man's help.

All they needed was to get into the archives and Murata would have what he needed to break the spell.

* * * * * * * * * * * * MOS * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter two everyone!

Please tell me what you think. I hope you all are enjoying this AU story. I took some elements from the original series, but for the most part, all of the plot will be written by me. Also, this story will move a little fast as I plan to make it a short-ish story with a very straightforward plot. It simply written for fun. Either way, I hope you find it interesting.

Please review! It helps me be a better writer.

Love, EB


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